


valentine's day

by zigsexual (anythingbutloud)



Category: The Royal Romance (Visual Novel)
Genre: M/M, highschool but not AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-06 21:44:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17947661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingbutloud/pseuds/zigsexual
Summary: in which drake is sixteen, perturbed by the concept of love, and burdened with a fat crush on his best friend the prince of cordonia.





	valentine's day

**Author's Note:**

> my belated and creatively named valentine’s gift to you all that got away from me and ended up being a full fledged fic!! deepest apologies. please note that this isn’t a highschool au, it’s my DEU rendition of The Crew (maxwell, olivia, liam, drake) as wee babies when they were at their bougie ass rich kid private school prior to the events of trr. i have so many thoughts about this gang you guys……. so many thoughts. i digress.

“Who the hell decided to commercialize Valentine’s Day, anyway?” Drake complains, making a face as they pass a group of girls hanging up strings of heart-shaped lights in the halls. “Couldn’t we have given February a useful holiday?”

“What in god’s name is a _useful_ holiday?” Olivia says, “Would you suggest we celebrate weeding the garden instead?”

Drake rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying, it’s a colossal waste of time.”

“Speak for yourself,” Maxwell chimes in, “I’ve already got like fifteen secret admirers. At this rate, I won’t need to buy chocolate for a year.”

“You never need to buy chocolate. Your family is rich.”

“It’s the principle of it, Drake.”

Olivia turns, flashing a smirk at him. “Come on, you just hate it because no one wants to be your Valentine. It’s a hard life being an old maid, isn’t it?” She bats her eyelashes, lips set in a mocking pout. “We’ll spare a thought for you, darling.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Drake glares at her, and she barely conceals a snicker.

“She’s right though,” Maxwell says, “You can’t fully enjoy Valentine’s if you don’t have anyone to spend it with.”

Drake raises an eyebrow at him. “And who are _you_ spending it with? Your _fifteen_ secret admirers?”

Maxwell brightens. “Exactly! If I spend it with all of them, it’s enough people to be a party!”

“Oh, to be so simple,” Olivia sighs.

Liam is quiet at Drake’s side, content to listen to their back-and-forth as he usually does. He’s never been much of a talker, at least in the company of others. He talks to Drake, and that’s all that matters.

Olivia and Maxwell split off towards their respective classes, offering Drake a brief respite from the taunts until the next passing period. Liam glances over at him, a tentative smile on his face, and Drake catches his eye and smiles back.

“I’ll be your Valentine,” Liam says, painfully earnest.

It takes Drake a second for the words to settle in, but once they do, he can feel the color start to spread on his cheeks. “What?”

“So you can enjoy the holiday,” Liam adds, so sweet and well-meaning, just like he always is. “We can do something together. I’ve always liked Valentine’s.”

Drake’s whole face is burning, flushed all the way to the tops of his ears. He prays to god that Liam hasn’t noticed. “Oh. Yeah, we could — yeah. That’s, ah… yeah, okay. Cool.”

Liam smiles wider. “Cool.”

When Liam breaks off towards his class, Drake lingers for a moment outside the door, watching him walk in and take his seat. Liam turns to take out his books, catching Drake standing there, and lifts up his hand in a wave. Drake waves back, smiling so hard he has to bite his lip to hold it in.

—

He spends all of lunch detention (unintentional wardrobe infraction) feeling strange. It’s only him and Maxwell (intentional wardrobe infraction) in the room, as the supervisory teacher is so used to their presence that she no longer bothers to supervise. Maxwell is reading a copy of Vogue, so he’s out as a conversation partner, and Drake has been left far too long with only his thoughts and that bizarre twisty feeling in the pit of his stomach to dwell on.

He’s certain all of this has nothing to do with Liam’s offer — why would it, anyway? What’s so weird about spending Valentine’s Day alone with your best friend, just the two of you? It’s not like that would _mean_ anything, especially not between him and Liam. They spend lots of time together, and nothing about it has ever been weird before.

Except… there _was_ that time in the summer when they went camping. There hadn’t been anything overtly strange, not really, but they’d gone swimming in the lake together and Drake couldn’t help but _notice_ Liam as he dried off afterwards. And then… _kept_ noticing him, all the rest of the day and into the night, until he dreamed that Liam noticed him too.

And there had been that palace ball, the one where the two of them snuck away and Liam tried to teach him the steps to the waltz, insisting on kissing his hand just like he would any of the girls he danced it with at court. Or the night they climbed onto the roof to watch a meteor shower and accidentally fell asleep together, Drake waking up with his head nestled in the crook of Liam’s neck like it was exactly where he belonged.

He takes a deep breath and glances over to Maxwell. He’s still intently focused on his reading, lips pursed. Drake drums his fingers on the desk, the strange feeling beginning to spread to his chest.

So what if sometimes he thinks about what it might be like to kiss Liam, or hold his hand, or run his fingers through his hair — everyone thinks stuff like that about their closest friend _sometimes_ , right? And it’s Liam, he’s just… that’s how everyone is with Liam. He’s a prince, and he’s kind and charming and handsome, and when he smiles at you sometimes it feels like you’re the only person in the whole world who matters.

And that’s… everyone feels like that, right?

“Maxwell,” Drake says, unable to keep quiet any longer, “Have you ever… wanted to kiss one of your friends?”

“No,” Maxwell answers, not even lifting his eyes from the magazine. “Have you?”

“ _No_.” Drake says indignantly. “Why do — why would you ask me that?”

This time Maxwell hazards a glance at him, amused. “Why would you ask _me_ that?”

“I was just wondering.”

“Is this about Liam?”

“What?” Drake panics. “No way. Of course not. Absolutely not. Why would you say that?”

Maxwell just watches him, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “What _other_ friends do you have?”

“I have other friends,” Drake says, although for the life of him he can’t think of any.

“Other friends you want to kiss?”

“I don’t —” He struggles to find something to say, but his mind has betrayed him, and he’s floundering. “Nevermind, okay? That’s… just nevermind.”

Maxwell surveys him a few seconds longer before letting out a sigh and returning to his reading, flipping to the next page. “Honestly, Drake, you’re a lost cause.”

Drake crosses his arms, sinking back in his chair. He’s probably got a fever. The flu was going around last week, wasn’t it? Definitely a late flu. Maybe he can get a hall pass to go see the nurse or something.

—

“Uh, hey, Savannah?”

He’s lingering in her doorway, still wearing his school uniform, backpack slung over one shoulder. She looks up at him from her bed, laptop perched at her side. “What do you want?”

“I just…” He regrets the entire situation now, but he can’t back out at this point.  “I need your advice on something.”

She tilts her head, suspicious. “You never ask for my advice.”

“Well, that’s because it’s usually bad.”

“You’re off to a _great_ start here.”

“Ugh, just let me talk, okay?” He shifts awkwardly under her gaze. “What would you… suggest… getting someone for Valentine’s Day?”

Her whole countenance shifts at his words, eyes lighting up and smile spreading across her face. She sits up straighter. “Oh my god, you have a girlfriend!”

“No, I —”

She squeals and claps her hands together, an almost manic expression of glee on her face. “You have a _girlfriend_!”

“It’s for a _friend_ ,” Drake says pointedly, crossing his arms and shooting her a reproachful glare. “And forget I said anything. Apparently you’re the worst person to ask.”

Savannah leans forward, resting her chin on her hands, waggling her eyebrows at him. “Nobody gets Valentine’s presents for a friend, dumbass. At least not ones that require sisterly advice. Who is she? Do I know her?”

“No, because she doesn’t exist!” Drake throws his hands up with a sigh, turning to back out of the doorway. “I told you, just forget it. Christ.”

“Wait!” Savannah hops off her bed, following after him. “Wait, I’m sorry! I wanna give you ideas, okay? I have good ones!”

He shoots her a scowl over his shoulder. “You had your moment, and you blew it.”

“Girls like flowers, and chocolate, and nail polish,” she says, still trailing behind him, listing it out on her fingers as she speaks. “Sometimes stuffed animals but only if they’re cute. Jewelry. Cookies and cupcakes and cards.”

He wants to say: _And what if it’s not for a girl?_ But the aftermath of that question isn’t something he’s ready to deal with. He bites his tongue. “Seriously? I could’ve Googled all of that. You’re completely unhelpful.”

She rolls her eyes, hands on her hips. “Fine. What kinds of things does your ‘ _friend’_ like?”

He pauses, thinking. “Books. Traveling, I guess. Sports. Dogs.” Municipal government, although that one’s too much of a giveaway to say out loud.

Savannah makes a face. “All of those are boring, unless you’re getting her a puppy. Which you’re definitely not.” She purses her lips, looking up at the ceiling while she thinks. “If you’d just tell me _who_ it’s for, maybe I could actually help you.”

“No chance in hell.”

“Ugh, your loss then,” she says, rolling her eyes and turning back in the direction of her room. “Make her a scrapbook for all I care. It’s not going to be my fault when you get dumped.”

“I’m not getting dumped!” Drake calls after her, indignant. “There’s no one _to_ dump me!”

“And there never will be!” Savannah shoots back, vanishing through the doorway and closing it behind her.

—

When the day arrives, Drake tries not to seem overtly invested when he asks Liam about his plans for the evening. Anyway, maybe he’d forgotten; maybe it had just been an offhand, spur-of-the-moment kind of thing.

“Well, what time are you dropping by?” Liam answers with a smile. “We should still get to bed at a reasonable hour, but if you’re free around dinnertime, I have a few ideas.”

“Sure,” Drake says, mirroring the smile. “We can do dinner.”

And if his heart speeds up a little at the implication — dinner, with Liam, on _Valentine’s Day_ — then maybe that’s just the flu talking. Who cares if the nurse couldn’t find a fever yesterday? What does she know?

As soon as he gets home, he starts working on the gift he’s spent all day thinking about. He owes just a bit of the inspiration to Savannah, whose parting mockery had been more useful than she clearly intended it to be. He’s not making a scrapbook, per se, but something to pull together all the memories that bind the two of them so closely.

Drake would punch anyone who’d call him sentimental, but the truth remains that he always likes to take a piece of the moments that mean something big. A horseshoe from the ranch his mom’s family owns in Texas, the first time she let him ride one of the horses. A table topper from the first royal wedding he’d attended, making Liam laugh (the ultimate goal, as Liam had been despondent all day once Regina donned white) while he pressed a finger to his lips to keep his thievery quiet.

He rummages through his drawers now for the perfect mix of things to press onto paper for Liam. A map of their friendship, if you will, told in ticket stubs and photographs and ballpoint pen. He tries to label everything he can, not sure if Liam will remember right away when he sees: a seashell plucked from the sand of their favorite beach in Cordonia, apple seeds from their first festival together, a scrap of fabric from the tent they’d ruined the first time they got to go camping on their own. He fills the spaces between with pictures, a gradient of growth, his hair losing its sandy highlights and Liam’s baby face disappearing into cheekbones and jawlines right before their eyes.

They’d been together for so much. So much of Drake’s life had been defined by Liam, by the moments they shared, the memories they’d made together. He looks down at the collage of their past, messy as it is, and silently hopes for it to continue far into the future.

When he’s done, he takes care to roll up his creation and secure it with a rubber band, lodging it snugly in his backpack so Liam will be surprised.

With the gift out of the way, he spends several minutes staring at his closet, wondering what sort of thing to wear. Normally in these situations, he’d ask Savannah for help, but following their last conversation he’s fairly certain any advice she has to give will be locked away behind one thousand pressing questions he has no desire to answer.

Why mess with the status quo, then? He throws on a denim shirt and fishes out the black jeans Savannah had bought him last Christmas (“If you’re going to keep wearing double denim, at _least_ make it a different color.”), pulling off the tags and crossing his fingers that she had at least a bit of good taste. They’re tighter than he would normally want them to be, and he stares himself down in the mirror for a few seconds trying to decide if it’s too much.

He remembers the last time he’d worn a suit: some formal banquet Liam had begged him to attend so there’d be someone for him to talk to. Liam had paid for it, of course — Liam always paid for everything, no matter how many times Drake tried to refuse — and he’d dragged Drake to the royal family’s tailor to make sure everything was sized correctly.

Liam, ever the picture of nobility, had been quick to lecture him on the importance of a good suit. Drake recalls the way Liam had skimmed his fingertips across the lapel, assessing the details, absently commenting, “You should have them cut it more fitted, it’ll look good on you.”

Drake sighs. Skinny jeans it is, then.

He drops by Liam’s room just a few minutes after six, stalling to make sure it doesn’t seem like he’s too eager. He wonders what Liam has planned, if they’ll stay in for the night or go out somewhere, a reservation just for two. And what about after dinner? Would they reprise their favorite rebellious activity and stargaze on the roof?

He takes a deep breath and knocks, a flittering anxiety alight in his stomach.

When the door opens, Liam is already smiling. Drake can’t help but notice that he’s wearing the Liam version of casual: a sweater over an Oxford. That alone is a definitive enough statement; there will be no going out tonight. He begins to regret the jeans.

“Hi!” Liam says brightly, heading back into the room before Drake can fully respond, clearly excited about something. As Drake follows him in, he immediately spots what it is, and his heart sinks.

Liam is talking animatedly, unaware of the way Drake’s gaze has landed forlornly on what looks to be an entire library of boring old historical tomes laid out across Liam’s bed. “I was thinking we could get a head start on our history project. I brought down a bunch of the old books we have on the medieval Cordonian rulers, so it should be really interesting! They don’t have any of these at the school library.”

“Oh,” Drake says, the weight of his backpack suddenly tremendous. “You want to… study history.”

Liam seems to sense his apprehension, looking back over his shoulder. “Or we could do something else. Your call, whatever you want to do.” He glances at the way Drake’s fingers are digging into his backpack straps. “Did you bring something?”

“No,” Drake says, a beat too quickly. “No, just school stuff. You know, so we can… do homework.”

“Great! Oh, and I almost forgot — the staff are making pizza for dinner. I figured that’s easy to eat while we work, right?” Liam crosses over to the bed. “Did you have a particular century in mind?”

Drake forces a smile. “You know what, it’s just… so hard to choose.”

“You’re right,” Liam sighs, already opening one of the books, seemingly oblivious to Drake’s complete lack of interest. “There’s really so many good ones. I’m glad we’re starting this now, otherwise I wouldn’t have enough time to pick.”

The fake smile still plastered on his face, Drake edges toward the bathroom. “Yeah, that sounds… listen, I’ll be right back.”

Liam’s attention has already shifted fully towards the history project, brow furrowed as he reaches across for another book. Drake slips inside the enormous adjoining bathroom and locks the door behind him, slumping down on the floor.

And — he’s an idiot. Of course, of _course_ , this is what Liam had meant. This is the kind of thing they always do together when they hang out. Why should today be any different? Liam’s intention, from the very start, had been to give Drake an out, offer him an alternative to the teasing words of Maxwell and Olivia. Dinner was always pizza with them, always dressed down and casual and lounging in Liam’s room watching TV or studying or pranking one of the staff.

Drake brings a hand up to his face, rubbing the bridge of his nose. What had gotten _into_ him lately? Is this some sort of hormonal imbalance? A second puberty? God, with his luck.

He sighs and stands up, resigned to the decision that, for now, the backpack will stay closed. He’s mildly tempted to just flush his gift down the toilet and be done with it, but there’s still a spark of hope in his chest that he can’t find the strength to smother yet. Anyway, the night’s just begun; maybe Liam has plans for them that are yet to be revealed.

—

He learns about four hours later that there are no such plans, when Liam yawns into another book and says to him, “It’s almost ten, should we call it a night?”

Drake tries to keep from looking dejected. If anything, he knows that ten is late when it comes to Liam, what with his ridiculous adherence to bedtimes, so the fact that Drake has stayed this long is at least somewhat of a kind gesture on Liam’s part. Just not the one he’s looking for.

For a second, he almost considers asking if Liam wants to sneak up onto the roof again, but when Liam yawns a second time, his eyelids heavy, Drake relents. “Sure. Thanks for having me.”

Liam laughs. “You make it sound like you don’t live down the hall. You can come by whenever you want.”

“Just not after ten.”

Liam laughs again, a flash of levity in his tired eyes. “Maybe after ten, but only if it’s not a school night.”

Drake makes a face at him. “You’re such a giant nerd, Liam, you know that?”

“Well, that’s why I have you. To counterbalance.”

Drake slides off the bed, rolling his eyes. “Should I be offended by that?”

“ _You_ started it.”

He glances down at the ground, searching for his backpack, but Liam is two steps ahead of him and appears around the corner, holding it in his hands. “Don’t forget your stuff.”

Drake feels a tiny surge of nerves at the thought of Liam so close to his almost-gift, but he fights it back and takes the bag from Liam, slipping it over his shoulders. “Thanks.”

“Text me when you get home so I know you’re safe,” Liam says, smiling. It’s the joke he always makes, and Drake always rolls his eyes, like clockwork. It would be cute if it wasn’t so heartbreaking.  

“I expect to drop dead halfway there, but I’ll do my best.”

“Aw,” Liam tilts his head, the smile softening, “Don’t do that. I’d miss you.”

Drake’s cheeks burn, which he takes as his cue to leave. He offers Liam a halfhearted salute, walking backwards towards the door until Liam turns around, and then he does, too.

The walk back down the hall seems longer than usual, weighed down by dashed hopes and the presence of that fucking gift he’d been so stupid to prepare. He flicks on the lights in his room with a frustrated sigh, letting his backpack fall off his shoulders to the floor as he crosses towards his closet to change out of the stupid jeans.

When he passes his bed, he sees it. A flash of something silver. He pauses, head turned, brow furrowed, trying to make out what it could be. It’s nestled in against his pillows, sinking down into the comforter.

As he approaches, the object becomes clearer: a delicately wrapped package, with a tiny card slipped under the red ribbon tied across it. Drake picks it up, inspecting it curiously before flipping open the card. The inscription reads: _Happy Valentine’s Day! Love, Liam._

Drake drops the gift back down on the bed, a sudden jolt running through his body and filling him with a nervous apprehension. How had Liam managed this? They’d been together the entire evening, and he would have certainly noticed if Liam had been gone longer than a few minutes; he hadn’t been _that_ invested in the studying.

He can’t possibly open this. Not now. Not after…

_Love, Liam._

Drake sits, staring down at the package while his heart speeds up. Finally, he reaches back out for it and gingerly tears at a corner of wrapping paper.

Underneath, he can see a small, flat box — nothing out of the ordinary. He pulls off the ribbon, tearing back the rest of the paper before slowly moving to open the lid.

When he sees what’s inside, his heart climbs right into his throat.

He’s almost too stunned to touch it at first, but curiosity soon gives way and he brushes his fingers gently across the cool metal, following the lines that make out his last name, inscribed at the bottom just under a long string of numbers.

He knows what it is without having to read the tiny note Liam has tucked underneath it: his dad’s badge from the King’s Guard. After he had died in the assassination attempt, the state had taken everything in as evidence. His mom had filed a few petitions to have things returned, but she’d given up shortly before she left. Drake had almost forgotten. Liam must have remembered, must have pulled some strings.

He looks up at the ceiling, willing gravity to pull back the tears brimming in his eyes. His hand folds around the badge.

_Love. Liam._

He hurries back into the hallway before he even knows what he’s doing, jogging back towards Liam’s room and knocking on the door so forcefully that he can hear Liam’s footsteps speed up before he pulls it open, eyes wide. “Drake? What’s —”

“Your present,” Drake interrupts, the words coming out in a tumble, out of breath. “Liam, that was… nobody’s ever…”

“Oh,” Liam withdraws a little, a bashful smile creeping onto his face. “I was worried it might be a bit much, I just thought… well, do you like it?”

“I love it,” Drake says, unabashed. “I love you.”

He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but Liam lets the smile spread, reaching out and pulling him in for a hug. “I love you too,” he says.

Drake feels the memories of every moment he’s spent pretending not to long after Liam flood through his body like fire. Maybe… maybe Maxwell had been right, maybe Liam _was_ the only person he wanted to kiss and maybe he didn’t have the flu and maybe —

Suddenly, Liam adds, “You’re my best friend, Drake,” and the world comes to a slow and inevitable stop.

Best friend. Right.

Drake clings to Liam just long enough to blink back his rapidly watering eyes, breathing out slowly through his mouth. When they break apart, he’s managed to plaster a smile on his face too.

It is simultaneously the best and worst Valentine’s Day he’s ever had.

“See you tomorrow, then,” he says, slightly hurried as he feels another wave of emotion begin to well up inside him. Liam nods, completely oblivious to the hurricane hiding behind Drake’s eyes.

“See you tomorrow.”

Drake walks back to his room with his hands shoved into his pockets, mind racing just as his heart slows. He’s not sure what to do with himself, what to do with all these feelings. But he at least knows what to do with the carefully crafted gift he’d never had the chance to give Liam, still sitting like a stone in his backpack.

When he’s back inside, he takes it out and looks at it, suddenly so mad at himself for thinking — well, he’s not quite sure _what_ he’d thought. But it had been stupid. Stupid just like Valentine’s Day.

He gathers the whole thing up and walks it towards the trash can under his desk, dumping it unceremoniously among the discarded papers and wrappers and soda cans. He shoves it down with his foot, refusing to let it linger at the top, a reminder of his idiocy.

He almost considers throwing Liam’s card away with it, even crosses the room and picks it up, intentions set. But some part of him, the same part that had thought this all up in the first place, can’t let it go. He stands over his trash can, staring down at the words written in Liam’s careful cursive script, brushing his thumb across the letters. _Love, Liam._

At the last minute, he tucks it into his back pocket and turns to get ready for bed.


End file.
